


What I Love Most

by Sethrine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Cooking, Dancing, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Memories, Sad Ending, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sethrine/pseuds/Sethrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I couldn't honestly count the hundreds of reasons why I love you.</p>
<p>Instead, let me name a few things I love most."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Do You Love Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Welcome to my first Hetalia installment! I'm so very proud of this fic and the emotion I'm able to convey through it. I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Any recognizeable characters or plot devices are owned by their respectable affiliates.The intent of this fic is for the enjoyment of the readers and is in no way used for profit.

Arthur Kirkland's home was unnaturally quiet for the time of day, especially with all the commotion the more recent world meetings brought about. France hadn't tried to sneak in through the garden like he so often attempted to do, and even America hadn't stopped by to pester him about heroism-this and hamburger-munch-munch-that. Normally, he would find such invasions of privacy a nuisance, especially when it took away further time he could be spending with (Y/N). 

At the thought of your name, England looked over at the plush couch that he kept off to the side in his study, giving a weary sort of smile at seeing your sleeping form curled up comfortably along its length. 

Today had been one of your better days, so he thought. You were more easily able to move about on your own, and your coughing fits weren't as draining on your stamina as they had been earlier that week. This was one of those days that he cherished, a day where he could take you outside to the garden you so loved to run around in, a day where your health wasn't as big of a concern as it normally was because you were feeling so much better.... 

A frown came to the country's lips. It was because of your earlier activities frolicking outside that had forced you into a dizzy spell, hence why you were currently napping in the study where you had demanded you be taken. It was, after all, the place he would be spending his time while you rested, and you had refused to be away from his side all that day. 

Now more than ever, Arthur wished his normal nuisances were there to keep his mind from unwanted thoughts. 

You were gravely sick. None of the doctors he had taken you to could figure out what sort of illness had befallen you, nor could they conjure up a cure. Even he, desperate for anything that could help you, dabbled in his dark magic for weeks only to come up unsuccessful. There were some days, such as today, that you were well enough to do daily tasks. There were far too many days, however, that you were so ill you could barely get out of bed without assistance. 

As much as England didn't want to think about it, he couldn't deny the fact that your time was nearly at its end. 

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes momentarily while rubbing at his brows with the palms of his hands. His mind was straying too long to the negative nowadays. If he continued that, then he wouldn't be able to complete his project before the inevitable. 

**~*~*~*~**

_"Why do you love me, Arthur?"_

_England stared at you with wide emerald eyes, slightly taken aback by such a question coming from your paler than normal lips._

_"What exactly do you mean by that, Love?"_

_You smiled sweetly at him, further confusing the British country._

_"I mean exactly what I said, silly. Why do you love someone like me? I feel as if I've been nothing but a burden to you since our relationship started, and when I moved in...."_

_"I'll have none of that talk, (Y/N)."_

_He hadn't meant to sound so harsh when speaking, but he hated to see you so sad about something so unimportant. Really, there had been no trouble at all, not from what he could see. Things happened; it wasn't like you were able to stop yourself from catching this sickness or predicting you would hardly be able to do anything on your own._

_"Sorry, Arthur."_

_There was a long silence that followed as Arthur continued to look down at your hand, the same hand he had been holding for the past hour or so as you continued to have violent coughing spells._

_"There are so many reasons why I love you, (Y/N), that I'm afraid I couldn't count them all even if I tried."_

_A small smile graced your lips as you gently squeezed his hand in reassurance. You understood that feeling._

**~*~*~*~**

England's eyes lit up as he reached for his pen, gracefully beginning to write out the very last thing he needed to complete his project, one he had dedicated to you. There had been something missing from it for the past three days, something he hadn't been able to think up until that very moment. It was amazing how the mind could draw inspiration from the slightest of things. 

"Arthur?" 

England dropped his pen instantly at your meek voice calling his name, worried eyes looking over your form as he stood from his chair and quickly made his way to your side. His project would have to wait; right now, you were his main priority. 

"I'm here, Love. Would you like to sit up for a bit?" 

You gave a small smile while nodding your head lightly, allowing the British country to carefully pull you into a sitting position on the couch. 

"There we are. How are you feeling?" 

"I'm...I'm fine, now. Not so dizzy, maybe a small headache? Nothing I'm not used to by now, though." 

You tried to come off as joking, but England didn't seem all too thrilled with the attempt at humor. You couldn't really blame him. 

"I'll get you some peppermint tea, then. It's been helping with the headaches, hasn't it? Just wait here a moment and I'll have it ready." 

Your smile brightened considerably as England leaned forward and gave the slightest peck to your lips before leaving the study. You didn't really want him to go, at least not without you by his side. He was already worried enough about you, however, and you didn't want him to fret over you simply walking to the kitchen when he could easily get you whatever you needed. 

Sighing, you slowly stood from your sitting position, taking a moment to let your legs adjust to your own weight, before carefully beginning your walk around the study. You were still feeling fine, though your dizzy spell had drained you physically. It would take a moment for your legs to adjust to you moving again. This was also something you knew you could do on your own, despite England insisting he be with you in case you tripped up or your legs gave out. 

He worried about you so much already; you wanted to prove you were able to take care of some things yourself, even if it was just a small little walk around a room. Half-way around the study, however, you were beginning to think that your idea wasn't such a good one, and by the time you reached England's desk, you had to have a seat before your legs really did give out on you. 

"Honestly, what use am I if I can't even walk around a room by myself?" you asked aloud, letting your head rest against the cherry wood desk in front of you that contained several piles of paperwork that you assumed was for the world meetings England had been frequenting. It was a wonder he ever had time for anything nowadays. If he wasn't at home taking care of you, he was at a world meeting with all the other countries trying to get things settled (and never really succeeding in the end). 

At this point, you wondered why he even bothered. 

You sighed once again while leaning back in England's chair, tired eyes gazing about the office. It was at this time that a single, lone paper in the middle of the desk had caught your attention, something you were surprised you had missed only moments ago. You weren't one for prying into England's political matters as it was his own business, but this piece of paper was different, all because of what was scrawled boldly in pretty cursive at the top. 

_My Dearest (Y/N)._

You hesitated for a moment, torn between not wanting to meddle with England's personal things and wanting to know what was on the paper that so lovingly had your name written across the top of it. In the end, your curiosity got the better of you, and with a pale, slightly shaking hand, you picked up the piece of paper and began to read. 

_As much as I don't want to dwell on such a thing, I know our time is limited. You're becoming tired, I can see that. Yet you continue to fight day by day, and I'm reminded every moment of every day just how lucky I am that you're still with me._

_I know you believe I fuss over you too much, and I know you become aggravated when I take matters into my own hands, but I only do so because I selfishly believe you'll get better if I take over for you. I know now that such thinking is foolish. All I can hope to accomplish is making you as comfortable as possible with what time we have left._

_Remember that day when you asked me why I loved you? I was honestly too afraid to give an answer to such an important question; I didn't want to upset you into another spell of sickness if i were to somehow have said the wrong thing._ _I've had time to think about it, however, and my answer remains the same. I couldn't honestly count the hundreds of reason why I love you, (Y/N)._

You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You had to stop reading for a moment just to get yourself under control. 

The next line and the lines that followed, however, were your undoing, and you allowed the emotional rollercoaster that followed to course through you at full speed. 

_Instead, let me name a few things I love most._


	2. I Love The Way You Mimic My Accent

_I love the way you mimic my accent, even if you butcher it most of the time just to see how long it takes for me to snap and correct you._

"'ello, dear! 'ow are yew this fine afta'noon?" 

England couldn't help but cringe at the thick and rather altered accent escaping your lips. With a slightly forced smile, he looked up from the newspaper he had been reading and made contact with your lovely (e/c) eyes. 

"Good afternoon, Love. I'm doing splendidly, thank you. And yourself?" 

"Well, I'm jus' as lovely as eva'! Wot yew readin' there, A'thur?" 

Again, England couldn't stop the slight cringe at how butchered his country's accent sounded when you spoke it. He didn't understand your strange obsession with his accent, though he had tried countless times to correct you on how he said certain things. You had a tendency to put way too much emphasis on much of your vocabulary, and it was frankly unnerving to hear. 

"I-it's just the newspaper, darling. Nothing fancy or anything...." 

You were seemingly unfazed by his discomfort, your smile as bright as ever on your pretty little face. With a small giggle, you skipped forward and joined England in his chair, taking a seat right in his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck from the side. 

"Oh! Well tha's nice! Can I 'ave a lewk?" 

In hopes that you would stop with the overly-done accent, he opened the paper a bit wider and angled it so you could read along with him. You had grown quiet, creating a comfortable atmosphere that both you and England were happy with. 

"Oh, lewk! I's li'le baby duckies fo' sale! How lovely!" 

"No, no more! I can't take it!" England shouted suddenly, closing the paper and dropping it to the side in favor of lecturing you and your impeded speech with flailing arms. 

"Everything you're saying is wrong! It's just...it sounds completely butchered! I mean, I've heard crazy old grannies sound better than that, and do you know how many crazy old grannies are in London alone?" 

You listened as England continued to rant, laughing every once in a while when he began trailing off into a completely other story just to get his point across. He was trying so desperately to get you to understand that _neither he nor his people sounded anything like that!_ or something along those lines. He was so easily riled up sometimes.... 

_When you're not trying to tease me into frustration, though; when you speak so lightly in my accent without the heavy pronunciation...goodness, you have no idea what it does to me._

"I'm sorry, Arthur." 

England paused abruptly in his ranting, his eyes widening at the way you had apologized. It wasn't in that horrid accent you had been using, nor was it in your normal accent. Rather, it was a soft, barely-there English accent, one that sounded almost natural and sweet and oh so _lovely_ in that tone of voice you had used. 

"I'm...I'm sorry, what?" 

You giggled then, shifting your weight around until you were facing him with your legs on either side of his. 

"Silly, I was just apologizing. I know how frustrated you get when I sound like that, but I can't help it sometimes. It's so funny when you finally just snap and go on a silly little rant." 

"So you...you...mimic...this whole time?" 

"My, what's gotten into you, Arthur? You can barely form a sentence. You don't expect me to believe you actually _like_ when I talk like this, do you? Surely not after the fuss you've made over my _attempt_ with at least trying to-" 

"Love, you can talk however you want, so long as you continue to talk to me like this right now." 

You had fully expected to rile him up only to throw him for a loop when mimicking his accent. What you hadn't expected was his sudden, and rather _pleasing_ , reaction. 

Totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around in the next chapter!


	3. I Love The Way You Dance

_I love the way you dance, even when you don't have any music playing. It's as if the world is your dance floor, and you don't care who watches so long as you have that moment._

England had been leaning against the wall, apple in-hand, for the past five minutes. He knew staring was considered rude, but when it came to you, his girlfriend of a full two years, sometimes he couldn't help himself. You were truly a wonder of your own. 

What had him so captivated at that very moment was the way you were swishing your hips back and forth as you moved your feet smoothly against the tiled floors while moving about the kitchen. There was no music playing on the small radio he had gotten you last Christmas, nor were your headphones attached to your ears as he often saw when you were doing housework. Instead, you were humming your own little tune, one he was sure he had heard from your lips before, and dancing around as you moved from one area to the other scrubbing the several counters that were there in the kitchen. 

"I think you missed a spot," England stated with a smile as he took a bite out of his crisp apple. 

You looked up, slightly startled at his voice and the snap of teeth sinking into fresh fruit reaching your ears, but upon seeing him you smiled sweetly. He was joking around with you, it seemed, something he liked to do when you were cleaning or helping him with the garden out back. 

"Well, perhaps I need to scrub a bit harder, then," you teased back, giving a little smirk as you continued to hum and danced your way to the sink to wash out the cleaning rag you had been using. It had become barely soiled during your second go-around of the counters which meant everything was probably as clean as you could get it. 

"If you ask me, though, I don't think Ludwig could do any better himself." 

England got a good laugh out of that, watching as you danced your way over to his side. With a small smile, he offered you his apple of which you delightedly took a bite out of. You were very fond of fruits; he was almost positive there wasn't one you didn't like. 

_What makes it even more special is when you allow me into your world. When you pull me to you and ask me to dance with that smile of yours, there's no way I could ever say no._

"Would you like to dance with me, Arthur?" you asked unexpectedly, noticing the way England's emerald eyes settled into an easy expression. He then gave you a strange look, one you hadn't really been expecting. 

"I don't think it's quite as appealing when I shake my hips about as it is when you do it, darling." 

"No, silly! Nothing like that. Just a nice slow dance, you and me." 

He seemed a little hesitant, like he was worried of being judged, but when he smiled and gave a nod of his head you couldn't stop the smile from forming on your lips. 

You gently took hold of the apple in his hand and led him back to where you had been bustling about in the kitchen, placing the half-eaten fruit on the counter for later. You then took both his hands and moved them to the small of your back before wrapping your own arms around his neck. You then began swaying with him, letting him get into the whole movement before resting your head on his chest. 

The both of you stayed like this for a while, steadily swaying about the kitchen to an unheard tune. However, as time passed by, England swore he could hear a gentle lull of music playing in the distance, notes of soft piano and a lovely harp. He was also convinced that you could hear it, too. 

_It's magical, those moments with you, swaying to the same music only you and I can hear. I wouldn't trade them for the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	4. I Love The Way You Partake Of My Cooking

_I love the way you actually partake of my cooking, even though I'm sure you find it terrible._

"Mm, what smells so good?" you asked aloud, trying to figure out what Arthur was cooking. The scent was light and smelled wonderful, something that had caught your attention immediately since entering the front door. You just had to know what he was up to. 

You currently found yourself in the kitchen, having just caught England pulling a tray from the oven with what looked like some sort of pastries. He seemed rather surprised to see you standing there. 

"Oh, (Y/N)! I didn't expect you home so early. I was hoping to have these done before you returned so I could surprise you." 

"Really now? What did you make?" 

"Scones. Cinnamon scones, actually. I tried a different recipe than the one I normally use. Turned out a little flatter than I thought they would." 

You entered the kitchen to take a better look at the rounded pastries cooling somewhat on the pan. Indeed, they were much flatter than the ones England usually made, and they looked a little lumpier than normal on the top. You could clearly see the flecks of cinnamon in them though, which was something different, obviously for your enjoyment, to his plain scones he partook in often. 

"Well, flat isn't necessarily a bad thing, dear." 

"It is if the picture in the cookbook shows them much thicker." 

Well, he kind of had a point there.... 

"Silly, those pictures are just a reference! Every recipe comes out different depending on the person who makes them. I'm sure they'll taste fine." 

"R-really?" he asked, a bit surprised. It seemed a little more hopeful after your little rant. 

Of course! Let's try one out, see how they taste. They smell wonderful!" 

_I know you try to make me happy by at least attempting to eat my cooking, but i can tell when you don't like it. I'll admit, it took a while; you hid it so well. But after having country after country criticize my cooking, I was bound to figure out what you didn't like about it, too._

Upon taking your first bite into the cinnamon scone, the first thing you were aware of was how crunchy it was. You were pretty sure they weren't supposed to be like that. The second thing you noticed was the rather shocking, spicy taste of cinnamon mixed with a pungent undertone that reminded you sorely of tart sourdough bread, a combination that did not belong together very well. 

"You don't like it, do you?" 

You turned to look at England's dejected face, eyes widening as you tried quickly to think of something nice to say about the pastries. 

"N-no, that's not it at all! They're...well, the cinnamon is a nice change, and...um...." 

"You don't have to lie about it, you know. If there's something you don't like about them, you can tell me." 

"Well, they're...they _are_ a little dry, and...and...perfect!" 

Your sudden exclamation, along with the sudden clap of your hands as you moved toward the pantry, had England's brows raising in surprised disbelief. 

"What? 

_There are things that you do, however, that make me feel like my cooking can be the most amazing thing in this world._

England watched as you began pulling things out here and there, removing several items from the pantry, the fridge, the cabinets, and even the fruit bowl where you had removed several peaches. 

"Um, Love, what are you-" 

"There's something I've been wanting to try again for the longest time now," you began as you started peeling and seeding the peaches before chopping them into small dices and placing them in a bowl. "Of course, I was scared it was going to come out too sweet like it had the last three times I made it, plus I haven't had the opportunity to try, seeing as I've been so busy, but now...." 

England continued to watch as you began combining several other things in the large bowl, such as sugar, vanilla, a dash of nutmeg, and a few other ingredients before giving them a good toss. You then reached for the pan of scones, almost fully cooled, and gave England a smile. 

"This is my surprise for you, Arthur. I promise you'll like it." 

In the end, you had created what looked to be peach tarts using the flat scones England had made. The sourdough taste the scones possessed went well with the tang of the ripe peaches while simultaneously toning down the overall sweetness just enough for the right flavor. The cinnamon in the scones also seemed to enhance everything that much more; it seemed his creation had made yours that much better. 

"Well, what do you think? It's not too sweet, is it?" you asked as you watched England pick up one of the cooled tarts and took a bite out of it. You waited anxiously as he chewed and swallowed while eyeing the round, golden treats. 

"They're...they're wonderful. Not too sweet, not overbearing...they're very nice tarts." 

You squealed excitedly as you rushed forward and wrapped your arms around England's neck, catching the Brit off-guard. You were certainly full of surprises today. 

"I'm so happy! Your scones were the perfect piece for my tart mix! They must have evened out the sugars or something if it doesn't taste like getting a cavity." 

You pulled back just enough to plant an eager kiss on England's lips, easily tasting the tang of peaches and the spice of cinnamon. 

"You're a great cook, Arthur." 

Right then and there, England could feel his heart swell with absolute joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	5. I Love The Way You Lie With Me

_I love the way you just lie with me during those restless nights I can't sleep and listen to what I need to get off my chest._

You awoke with a start, nearly jumping up out of bed just from the strange feeling of being woken out of a near-dead sleep. Something was off in the room; you may not have been as in-tune with the supernatural as England was, but you knew something wasn't right, otherwise you'd be sleeping soundly at that very moment. 

Blinking a few times to adjust your bleary eyes to the darkness, you looked over to the left side of the bed where England could be found, though not sleeping like you had thought he would be. Instead, his emerald green eyes were wide open, gazing up at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. 

At least you were able to figure out why you had woken up at such a strange hour of the night. 

"Arthur, dear, can you not sleep again?" 

England turned abruptly, stunned out of his thoughts by your voice echoing lightly in his ears. He had not expected you to be awake once more at such a late our. You were good at picking up when he wasn't able to sleep, however, something neither he nor you could quite figure out. What he did know was that he felt awful for the many nights you were forced out of your slumber just because he couldn't sleep himself. 

"I'm afraid not," he sighed, turning his gaze away from you and back to the ceiling. "I can't stop my mind from wandering through the night as I can during the day." 

You frowned at his words, knowing full well that this wasn't the first time his thoughts exceeded over his need for rest. Quietly, so as not to upset the rather calm atmosphere of your dark room, you moved closer to England and rested one of your hands over his that had found purchase on his chest. You then twined your fingers together, earning a pleased hum from the blonde country. 

"What's making you so restless?" 

_I feel like an utter tosser for leaving you so tired during those long nights, telling you story after story, problem after problem, until I can get everything off my mind. And yet the whole time through, you listen so intently to everything I have to say._

England sighed once more before beginning his long account of the last world meeting he had just come home from that day. During the five days of his absence, the meetings had been extremely chaotic. Things had been brought up that should have remained in the past, and it was as if the next world war had just begun in that very room. And that was only day two. The next few days had been absolute hell for the poor Brit as he was constantly reminded of past events, such as his crushing split with America, that just ate away at his insides. It had literally come to the point that he refused to talk the rest of the meeting in fear that another jab would be taken at his country. 

The whole time he spoke, you listened intently to everything while finding your own ways to sooth his troubled mind. You ran your thumb over his hand in small circles, shifted closer and closer still, and had him adjust how he was laying so you were both facing each other and you were able to entwine your legs with his underneath the comforter. 

As he continued to talk, you could feel your eyes slowly getting heavier and heavier, though you refused to fall asleep until you were sure he was able to rest himself. It didn't seem to be too much longer that you were able to see his own eyes droop lower and lower, his speech slurring in that tired way until he became quiet. 

You shook the small smile that found its way to your lips. It seemed he was finally at peace with himself once again. 

_I can't thank you enough for those nights. Even when you're not talking back, I always feel so relieved to just lie there, holding you. It makes me feel at peace with myself and the decisions I've made over the many years of my existence._

"Thank you, (Y/N)." 

Opening eyes you didn't remember closing, you gazed up blearily at a peeking England, knowing he was already on the verge of sleep. 

"What for?" 

He smiled then, a sweet smile that very nearly took your breath away. His next words, however, did that enough. 

"Thank you for always listening to my ramblings, for always staying awake with me like you do. Even at my worst, when it feels like the world around me is falling apart, I feel I always have you to lift me back up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	6. I Love The Way You Act So Brave

_I love the way you act so brave, even when I know you'd rather run and hide._

You were sitting off to the side in the world conference room, steadily watching as country after country sat and talked casually after their long, drawn-out meeting. This happened to be one of the few trips you were allowed to come along with England, something that made you extremely happy. Though you hadn't gotten to sit in on the actual meeting (too much politics for mind to keep up with, anyways), you were still excited to be there to see everyone. 

You remembered quite a few of the nations, as it turned out, and many recognized you easily. Even the Nordic Nations, whose presence wasn't needed as often in the conference room, had come over to say hello. You almost couldn't contain the squeal of joy bubbling in your throat when Finland came up to you and gave you a hug, one you had returned graciously. It had really been a while since you'd seen everyone. 

"Enjoying yourself, (Y/N)?" 

Smiling brightly, you looked up at England who now stood beside you with a smile of his own, suit jacket swung over one of his arms in a relaxed pose. He knew how much you liked to see the other nations, even if it was just for a brief moment. There would always be time to visit them after the conference. 

"Of course! It's been a few months since I've seen some of my friends here. I'm glad you pulled me along." 

With a light grin on your face, you reached for England's free hand and smoothly twined your fingers with his. You giggled as England's face flushed a light color of pink at the action. It was strange how he reacted to public displays of affection, but it was cute as well. He was so easily flustered sometimes! 

"Yo, England! Dude, quit hogging your girlfriend and get your butt over here!" 

England immediately gave an exasperated sigh as you waved happily with a "Hey, Alfred!" following close behind. 

"I'm not hogging her, you bloody twit! We were just talking." 

"Chillax, bro. Just wanted to get you away from her before you both, you know, start snogging and stuff in the middle of the conference room." 

" _Snogging?!_ Why, I'd never...!" 

You laughed out loud as England's blush darkened, letting go of his hand so that he could make his way over to America to take him down a few notches. Even with the bad blood between them, it was obvious that the two were good friends. Of course, neither America nor England would ever admit to that, but at least you knew. 

With a content sigh, you gazed around the conference room at all the other nations caught in conversations. Many were laughing, some were arguing, and some were being perverse little heathens (France automatically came to mind). 

Over in a corner sitting by himself, however, was a nation you couldn't quite remember. A vague image of what his country's flag was supposed to look like popped in your head, the red flower -or was it a pine cone?- standing out the most in your mind. You stood then, fully intent on talking to the young lad and figuring out who he was, until a strong hand placed itself on your shoulder, halting any of your movements. 

"(Y/N), it has been a while since seeing you here, da?" 

You turned slowly, bright eyes meeting those of vivid lavender. You knew this man from brief, previous conversations, this nation that you were told more often times than not to avoid at all costs by England and many other countries. _Russia_. 

Russia was staring you down as he normally did to most others, a natural trait he had that he probably had no control over. It was rather frightening, having his full attention directly on you. Normally, you had others surrounding you and helping you through the conversation, but now it was as if you were the only person in that room with him. You had to be careful in such a delicate situation. 

_It amazes me how controlled you can be in the most frightening situations. Even when you could possibly get hurt, you go on as if nothing has changed. Sometimes, it's hard to tell who's more frightened, you or me._

"Hello, Ivan," you said slowly, testing the use of his first name as you had done the last time you both had spoken. His unnatural smile remained the same, as did his usually overbearing aura that he possessed. He must have been alright with you calling him by his actual name, then. 

"I see you remember me. That is good news to hear." 

"Yes, and you remember me, as well. It really has been a while since we last talked. How have you been?" 

Russia's smile widened fractionally, something you had not been expecting, especially since it wasn't forced. 

"I am as good as a country can be. You are well, da?" 

"Of course! Never better," you said with a smile, causing the Russian man to laugh slightly. 

"You are so cute and little! It makes me wonder how easy you can be broken," he said almost nonchalantly, reaching forward and patting you surprisingly gently on the top of your head. You giggled the slightest bit at the odd sort of affection. 

"Well, probably quite easily, especially with your hands. They're almost bigger than my head!" 

"Ah, right you are, little (Y/N)! You know, I like you. Perhaps one day you will become one with Mother Russia, da?" 

"Well, thanks for the offer, Ivan, but I think I'm fine where I am." 

"Oh? That's too bad. You would make a fine addition." 

His smile never wavered as he pat your head one last time before walking passed you and headed for the exit. He did pause before completely leaving, turning to lock eyes with you one last time. 

"Perhaps (Y/N) will enjoy Russian Water sometime?" 

"Of course! It would be quite the experience." 

Russia then disappeared out the door, muttering something along the lines of "How cute!" or something to that extent. 

Upon feeling eyes watching you closely, you looked around the room, surprised to find that everyone was staring at you. England had even moved much closer, having been nearly beside you as you talked to Russia. No one had spoken during the whole conversation, too afraid that saying something would put you in the line of danger. 

"(Y/N), are you alright, Love?" 

You turned to England, eyes wide with the fear you had been holding back. Then, so suddenly that everyone had jumped out of their seats and rushed towards you, you collapsed to the floor. 

It was about fifteen minutes later that you woke up from your unconscious state, surprised to see most of the other nations surrounding you. 

"Dude, she's awake!" America exclaimed happily, forcing a sigh of relief from everyone else. 

England took hold of your hand and carefully helped you sit up. "Are you alright, (Y/N)? You took quite a spill back there in the conference room. Do you remember talking to...to Russia" 

You shook your head to clear your thoughts, giving a shaky smile at remembering exactly what happened. 

"I'm fine. But...but that was so scary! I never knew talking to someone could be so...frightening!" 

You followed your explanation with a laugh, surprising all of your friends. Maybe you had finally lost it.... 

_And after all the fear, you laugh as if it were the funniest thing. But I know you're just shaking it off, wanting to seem brave for all of your friends, and for me, and I can't believe how strong you are in that instance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	7. I Love The Way You Cause Me trouble

_I love the way you cause me trouble, especially when drunk._

"Yo, Iggy, finally! You've gotta come see (Y/N)! Dude, she's dancing on the bar now, it's hilarious!" 

"Wh-what?!" England spluttered as America all but yanked him inside the tavern and pulled him along to the bar where quite a few people, mostly the countries that had tagged along to unwind from the day's events, were crowded. 

From the beginning, England had known that letting you go along with America to the bar as he finished some paperwork would be a bad idea. For one, there were too many other men there, _drunk_ men with super-grabby hands, and he didn't much appreciate them grabbing for you. Another reason was the company in general that would be coming along. He trusted some around you and alcohol, but there was one group he didn't trust at all: The Bad-Touch Trio, as they were called. But you had assured that you would be fine, that you wouldn't drink much at all and that if anyone were to mess with you, you'd take care of it. 

God, why on earth had he let you tag along? 

England had to fight his way through the crowd with America to get to the front of the bar, and when he did, he was horrified to find that you were completely wasted...and that was definitely _not_ the outfit you left home in. 

Instead of the nice turquoise blouse and black slacks you had donned before heading out, he was peeved to find that you now adorned what looked like an extra long button-down white shirt that hung off one shoulder with a thick black belt around your mid-section and a light brown vest over the top. Your legs were lacking the slacks you had been wearing, and in their place was a pair of rugged looking boots that went half way up your calves. A fake sword was in your hand, an eye patch over your right eye, and to complete the ensemble, a pirate's hat -a suspiciously familiar looking pirate's hat- sat atop your head with a brightly colored feather at the side. 

Dear God, what had they done?! They had turned you into a bloody pirate, a _slutty_ pirate, and by the sound of it, you were too far gone to care! 

"Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum! Something about bad eggs...but whatever, 'cause it's a pirates life for ME!" you shouted with a big grin plastered on your face, doing a little spin and almost falling over as everyone cheered and clinked their glasses together. This only further encouraged you to continue your song and dance along the bar. Everyone was amused by your antics; England was terrified that you were going to fall over and break something at any second. 

"How the bloody hell did she end up like this?" England demanded from America, pulling him closer by his collar. 

"Last thing I remember was Prussia challenging her to shots. She downed at least seven, I don't know. I lost count." 

"Seven?! Seven bloody shots! Possibly even _more_?! And you...you watched her do this without even attempting to stop her?" 

"Dude, chill. She said she had this under control. You gotta admit, though, a drunk (Y/N) is hell'a funny!" 

"This is not funny! This is downright outrageous! Who gave her the costume?" 

"Um...I think France or someone. I really can't remember. I've had like, ten beers already." 

"I'll kill that bastard frog!" 

England scanned the crowd, instantly catching France's eye and fighting his way over toward him. He was stopped, however, when he saw you falling forward behind him, right into the arms of the man who had gotten you drunk in the first place. 

"Oi, Albino Man, where's me ale? Where's me damn bird! He took my eye, my eye, I swears it!" 

"(Y/N)!" England shouted, catching your attention as well as the attention of a suddenly scowling Prussian. 

"Tha's Captain...um...Captain Me to you, boy! Now walk the plank or drown!" 

You attempted to stand then, taking two wobbly steps before falling forward yet again, only this time in England's arms. You blinked up at him hazily as he steadied you, a wide grin forming on your lips. 

"Hey there, cutie. You look...familiar. Are you my brother?" 

"Goodness, no!" 

"Then you must be my...my, um...." 

"Boyfriend?" 

"Psh, no! I already have a boyfriend. His name is Iggy, but no one's s'posed to call him that 'cause he don't like it unless Alfie says it. But shh! It's a secret!" 

"What on earth did they give you? You're completely inebriated!" 

"I am not ana-brated! My name is (Y/N)! And I'm a pirate!" 

England sighed as he hoisted you up and into his arms, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck for support. As he walked out of the bar, you looked over his shoulder and waved to the other countries and patrons, yelling, "Drink up, me hearties, YO HO!" followed closely by a shout of "Yo, ho!" from the crowd. 

_You have a knack for getting yourself in quite a bind, and sometimes I don't understand how you do it. But in the end, you're always so sweet and apologetic, and there's no way I could ever stay mad at you._

The car-ride home was rather eventful as you continued to spout random pirate-like phrases and nearly made England lose control of the steering wheel twice due to wanting to "turn the ship" yourself. He had made it home safely in the end, thankful that the night was over. 

"Hey, Iggy, right?" 

"You never call me Iggy. You always call me Arthur." 

"Arthur, I'm drunk." 

A smile cracked along England's lips, the smallest chuckle escaping him. "It would seem you are very drunk, Love." 

You proceeded to giggle delightedly, reaching toward England and taking hold of his arm in a hug. 

"I'm not s'posed to be drunk. I was s'posed to...to not be drunk!" 

"It's quite alright, dear. Though you're going to feel it in the morning, I'm afraid." 

"I know. I shouldn't never, ever drink with Gil or Franny or Toni, never anymore!" 

"Yes, you shouldn't. They're in big trouble when I see them next." 

Your eyes widened as you looked up at England, fear overlapping the cloud of intoxication in your visible eye. "Am I in trouble, too? Are you mad at me? I di'n' wanna be drunk, I swear! Ask my bird! He took my eye!" 

England chuckled once more as he leaned forward and kissed your cheek lightly, carefully removing the eye patch from your right eye. As he did this, a smile came to your face, your previous fear forgotten. 

"I could never be mad at you, never for long, in any case." 

You later found out, after much medication for the horrible headache and a nice shower, that England had taken care of 'everything.' You weren't sure what 'everything' implied, but you do know that you had your previous outfit back. Oh, and France, Prussia, and Spain were covered in bruises and whelps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	8. I Love The Way You Show Your Emotions

_I love the way you show me your emotions. Sometimes, it's easy, but other times, I know you'd rather deal with them yourself, away from my eyes._

Initially, England wasn't going to disturb you when you had retired to the bedroom. 

There had been something about that voice mail on your cell phone that had upset you earlier that afternoon, so when you had excused yourself from company, something you had never done before, he knew you needed some time to yourself. You had hidden it very well from the guests, but he was able to tell that whatever you had heard had upset you greatly. You needed some time to just breathe. 

After nearly an hour, however, he began to grow worried. He became even more concerned upon climbing the stairs and hearing what sounded like sobbing coming from your shared bedroom. 

The door was slightly ajar, giving him a small glimpse at your face. Your eyes, usually bright and caring, appeared puffy and red, hinting that you had been crying for a while. You were slightly hunched over on the floor, as well, staring down at something in your lap. 

England moved forward slowly, prying open the door and accidentally gaining your attention. You looked up quickly, eyes wide at seeing him at the door. You quickly hid the object that had held your attention so intently behind your back, but not before he was able to catch a glance at the object...the _photograph_...that you were so adamant on keeping from his sight. 

"A-Arthur! What...what are you doing up here?" you questioned, wiping at your eyes quickly. 

England frowned, though not at the defensive question you had asked. With careful steps, he moved forward, gauging your reaction each step of the way until he was kneeling beside you on the floor. 

"Let me see, Love. Please." 

You were hesitant, shaking your head just the slightest in rejection, but after a moment you gave in with a sniffle and a fresh set of tears in your eyes. You removed your hand from behind your back and held it out to him, allowing him to take the picture from your hand. 

At first, England was surprised to see the two people staring back at him. In the photo was a younger you, bent over, hands on your knees and a bright smile in place as you looked at what had once been the camera taking the shot. Behind you and slightly off to the side, dressed up in a neatly pressed suit and donning the slightest of smiles, was Germany. 

Understanding washed over the Brit as a sort of forlorn look crossed his emerald eyes. Though it was a touchy subject, he knew that you had dated the German for nearly five years; the picture looked like it was from the younger years of the relationship. After the break-up, you had been single for quite some time before the both of you had gotten together, and already a year had passed. 

Was it possible, however, that you still had feelings for the man? It surely seemed logical; after all, you had been with the German man for five years. That kind of relationship didn't just end without feelings being hurt or forgotten. 

"Did he leave the message on your phone?" 

You nodded as you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, unable to contain the flow of tears. You had tried to stay calm about the whole situation, but it became too much to bear all too quickly, especially with that voice mail.... 

"Do you...still love him?" 

The question had fallen from England's lips before he had a chance to stop it. He didn't want to upset you further, but something in him had to know, especially if you were already to the point that you were avoiding any and all possible eye contact with him. 

_You've always been so emotional with everything you do, everything you talk about. And in those moments, I can't help but think how vulnerable you must feel, to have your heart literally on your sleeve and bared out to the rest of the world._

England watched as your bottom lip began to quiver ever so slightly, yet another onslaught of tears beading at the corners of your eyes before spilling over, this time accompanied by a whimper. It was all the answer he needed. 

"Right, well then-" 

"It...It's not the s-same, Arthur! It's...not the same." 

England paused, taken aback by how abruptly you had cut him off. You were still crying, clutching at your drawn-up legs as if they were your only lifeline; it was only natural that he move forward that much more and wrap you in his arms, your hands automatically clinging to his shirt and head burying in his shoulder. 

"I care...I care so m-much, it hurts! Ludwig...he b-broke my heart, but I can't _not_ care; I can't n-not love him. But it's not the same! It's not the same way I love you!" 

He continued to hold you close as you cried against him, his heart dancing wildly in his chest with every word you said. Slowly, as the minutes passed, you began to calm, your tears slowing to steady, minute streams. 

"I hadn't heard his voice in so long; honestly, I tried to avoid such things that reminded me of him. But I was only hurting myself more. And then, the voicemail...he apologized. He said he was sorry, sorry for everything he had ever done to hurt me, that he wanted to be friends again like we were before all this. But I don't think...I don't think I'm ready, not if I'm reduced to _this_!" 

You looked up at England, bleary eyes nearly begging for him to understand. "I love him, Arthur, but it doesn't even compare to the way I love you. It doesn't...it doesn't even...." 

Once more, you were reduced to tears, finding yourself burying your face in his shirt yet again as England took everything in. Honestly, he didn't know what to say. You were so open with him about everything and had always been; there was no reason for him to doubt anything you had said. Part of him wanted to be jealous, even angry at the idea of you loving another man, especially while with him. Another more sensible part of him, however, knew better than to even think of such things, especially when you were hurting so much in front of him. 

"When you're ready," he said slowly, caching your attention, "you should call him. You two need to talk. It will be much easier that way to find closure, and eventually, friendship. And when you're ready to take that step, I'll be there with you." 

You were mildly shocked at England's calm demeanor as you had expected an uproar of anger and resentment. Instead, you received understanding and compassion, things your still recovering heart was not used to. 

As you looked up at England, he smiled lightly, bringing his hand up to brush a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. That one simple, loving action was enough to send you into a new set of tears, though these were not for weeping out of bitter memories and resentment of hurt feelings. These tears were for the love that England made you feel inside, a feeling that was slowly but surely mending a still-broken heart. 

_Yet as long as you continue to show those emotions you are always eager to share with the world, then I will choose to be just as open and show you mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	9. I Love The Way You Take Care Of Me

_I love the way you take care of me when I'm sick. I know it must be a bother to you, but you take everything in stride and know how to handle most any situation._

You couldn't help the small smile that chose to find its way to your lips as you ladled some homemade soup into a bowl, humming lightly to yourself. It was strange to know you were happy at that particular moment, especially knowing that poor England was in the other room bedridden and delirious. 

It was a rare occasion to find England sick, or any other country, for that matter. But it was a doozy of a sickness; he had a terrible case of what you believed was the flu, backed up by aches, chills, and a high fever that had finally broken not but an hour ago. Now, it was just a matter of keeping the poor Brit hydrated and comfortable until he could fully shake the funk he had found himself in. You had even called up a couple other countries to see if any familiar faces besides your own would cheer the man up. 

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), France is totally doing that weird thing he does on Iggy!" 

You were beginning to wonder why you had decided it was a good idea in the first place. 

Placing the bowl on a serving tray along with a piece of toast and a cup of Earl Grey, you proceeded out of the kitchen and up the stairs to England's bedroom. You pausee outside the door a moment, the environment around you spinning momentarily. No, none of that, now! You had a sick nation to take care of, and you would not be detered by your own immune system. 

Upon entering what had been condemned as the 'sickward' for the time being, you nearly dropped the tray at the sight of America sitting atop France on the floor and England very nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. 

"Alright, boys, if you're going to start that, I'll lock you up outside in the garden, and don't think I won't do it. I may not be a country, but you _will_ mind your manners and your volume while in this room or so help me, I'll drag you out by your ears! Now, am I understood?" 

America frowned and rubbed at one of his ears subconsciously with the thought of the last time you did such an act. He nodded his head anyway and stood to his full height, France standing as well and dusting himself off. 

" _Merci_ , (Y/N)! You are such a wonder! Such a sweet little flower, taking care of the ones you love!" 

You rolled your eyes at France's antics, fully used to them by now. He sure did have a way with words sometimes, but for you, they did nothing but make you laugh. 

"And you're going to be my little helper for the moment. Now, if you'll just hold this for a sec-" 

You pushed the tray into France's hands before he could utter another word, whether to woo you once more or in protest, it didn't matter. 

"Thank you!" 

You then moved to the side of the bed England was all but dangling from, carefully maneuvering yourself around him in order to lift him up and put him back where he should be. Before you could properly do so, Alfred offered to do it. Surprised, but not at all a fool to turn down the needed help, you allowed the nation to lift England and place him back in the bed as he once was, though sitting up as you had asked he be. 

You took on the task of fluffing his pillows a bit, making sure he was tucked in, and the wash cloth that you had placed on his forehead, cooled by water, was cooled with chilled water once more and replaced on his skin. 

Once he was looking like he had before, you roused him from his sleep, something you shouldn't have been so surprised he was still doing even with all the commotion going on. You smiled gently when two emerald green orbs peeped open and looked around, a look of confusion crossing the blonde's face. 

"Eugh...(Y/N)? What...what time is it?" 

"It's time for lunch, dear. I made chicken noodle soup, just like you asked." 

"I...asked for that?" 

"Yes, Arthur. Now that your fever's broken, you should be able to remember things better. You were becoming quite delirious there for a bit, love." 

England became quiet after that as you took the tray from France and placed it down over England's lap while sitting beside him as he slowly ate the small lunch you had prepared for him. You had offered the other two nations lunch and told them to help themselves to the big pot of soup you had made, something America found absolutely exciting as he raced down the stairs with a more reserved France behind him. 

"Why on earth are those two here?" England asked as he began to finish off his soup. 

"Moral support, I suppose. Plus, I needed some help with...a few things. They behaved rather well." 

"That's hard to believe, but knowing you-" 

"Knowing me?" you questioned, a light smile on your face at the implication. Arthur gave a small smile, as well, sipping from his slightly chilled tea cup. 

"Knowing you, you would have put them in place first thing they were out of line." 

"Of course, Arthur. Can't have them making your condition any worse. You've been out for nearly a week, dear. I'm glad you're finally looking better. Are you feeling any better, as well?" 

"Yes, a little. My head isn't pounding like it was, though I still have a chill, I'm afraid. Muscles are achy, too." 

"Well, the important thing is that we've gotten that fever under control. Now, we just need to keep it that way, then the rest should be a breeze." 

You waited patiently for England to finish his tea, making small talk over what you had been doing during the day while he was resting. During this time, you couldn't help but smile the whole conversation. Your efforts to get him better had been working rather well, and before you knew it, he would be back to his normal England-y self. 

When he was finished with everything, you excused yourself and took his tray of empty dishes, promising your return whether he was awake or not. 

"(Y/N)...." 

You paused at the doorway, turning and catching his emerald gaze. 

"I...thank you, Love." 

You smiled once more. "Of course, silly. You didn't think you were gonna scare me away over a little sickness, did you?" 

With a bright smile, you lifted up your left hand and showed off the small diamond ring on your ring finger, not a wedding ring, but a promise ring. Upon seeing the piece of jewelry, Arthur began twirling the silver band of his own promise ring around his left ring finger. 

"Arthur Kirkland, I made a promise to you, remember? Through the good and the bad, the thick and the thin, I promised I wouldn't leave your side. So you're not going to get rid of me that easily, dear." 

England smiled at the words you had both promised each other nearly three months ago. It was one of the many steps he had planned for your future; there was no denying that he would, eventually, be marrying you. He just wanted to make sure things were...right, starting off with the promise rings, then following with asking you to move in last month. 

A loud crash from downstairs forced both of you from your thoughts and the loving atmosphere you had created, your eye twitching rather suddenly at the possibility of a mess being formed. You had just finished cleaning the kitchen, damnit! 

"I better get down there," you said in a rush, followed by mumblings of, "I swear if my kitchen is destroyed..." and other threats. 

England couldn't help the small chuckle that left him as he settled more comfortably in his bed, feeling fatigue once again threaten to take over his weakened body. 

_You put so much love and dedication in everything you do. It makes me feel so well cared for, so needed and loved by you in ways you couldn't imagine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	10. What I Love Most - How Could I Not?

On and on it went, reason after reason on things that England loved the most about you. There was a section about your smile, another on your laugh; from your strengths to your weaknesses, there were so many things that he seemed to adore. Each section brought a smile to your face and tears to your eyes; there were even a few times where you caught yourself laughing out loud with the memory that accompanied the words. Yet as you passed what would be the twenty-fifth section, the sentence trailed off with an unfinished quality, no punctuation after the last word to show that it was complete. 

"Sorry about that, Love, there was a knock at the door and...(Y/N), what are you doing over there! You shouldn't be moving about like that; it's not good for your condition!" 

You looked up at England's somewhat frustrated face, tears still falling from your eyes as you looked back down at the paper. 

"I-I'm sorry, Arthur. I was restless, and...and I-" 

"No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lash out; it was uncalled for," England stated with a sad sigh, moving to his desk and placing the tray with a pot of peppermint tea atop it on the hard, glossy wood. He reached forward with a smile and swiped his thumb just underneath your eyes to rid them of any remaining tears. 

"I didn't mean to upset you; I'm not mad, you know. I just worry about you dearly. Now, how about we sit down and enjoy some tea?" 

"What...what was the last thing?" 

England looked up at you, confusion lacing his emerald green orbs at the question. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"The last thing; you didn't finish your paper. _"These are all reason why I love you, but there's one that surpasses them all, one that explains everything that I cannot even begin to try."_ You started the next sentence, but you never finished it." 

England glanced down at the paper in your hand for the first time since entering the room, his eyes widening considerably upon realizing just exactly what it was. His features then softened as he reached for the paper, gently tugging it from your hands and looking down at each section. 

"You weren't supposed to read this yet." 

"Please...what was the last one? I-I'd really like to know." 

England placed the piece of paper back on the desk where he had left it before and knelt down on one knee in front of you, a serene sort of smile touching his lips and mirroring in his eyes. It was such a pure, loving smile that it had your eyes widening and a silent gasp escaping your slightly parted lips. 

"The last thing I was going to put on that paper is the sole reason why I love you, (Y/N). Even out of all those things I wrote down and the countless others I can't begin to list, I love the way you love me." 

"The...the way I love you?" you questioned, tears forming in your eyes once more. England once more leaned forward with that same bright smile and took hold of your face with both hands, thumbing away the small rivulets finding their way down your cheeks. 

"Of course, Love. The way you love me...there's just no way to describe how incredible it is. To always have you around me, to have you in my arms during the night and by my side during the day; the way you comfort me, reprimand me; the way you make me feel like a human being instead of the older country that I am. There's no one else I'd rather have in my life. I love the way you love me, (Y/N). How could I not?" 

You were literally reduced to a blubbering mess by his words, tears now unhindered and lips trembling with so much emotion. Everything England had said was so heartfelt, so charming and endearing and so full of love that it made your heart swell with the love you felt in his voice. 

With a stuttering gasp, you threw yourself forth and wrapped your arms around Arthur, sobs of utter bliss wracking your shuddering form. 

"I love you, Arthur! I love you so much!" 

You continued to tell him how much your loved him, all the silly quirks you liked and how much you adored him and everything else that your mind could think of at that moment. England listened to each declaration, all the while running one of his hands through your hair as the other held you tightly to him in a loving embrace. As you calmed, he moved back just the slightest to give your cheeks kisses, your eyes, your nose, and your lips, doing anything he could to keep his own tears from falling. 

The moment was surreal, a moment between two people who had a strong bond between them and a love as strong as time itself, always moving forward and unable to be stopped. You were sick, but it didn't matter. He was a nation, but he didn't care. All that mattered was this moment, the both of you holding each other and caught up in the love you shared. 

**~*~*~*~**

It took another three months of suffering through horrible coughing fits and faint-worthy dizzy spells, but finally, you were able to rest in peace. 

England looked down at the polished marble grave mark before him, his eyes downcast just like the sky above him. It seemed that even Mother Nature herself was upset with your passing, as were the other countries. It was a wonder the whole world wasn't in chaos. You had touched so many lives during your lifetime; you had even gotten under Russia's skin, a feat very few, if any, were able to do. But now...now, you were gone. 

The service had ended an hour ago, and those who had lingered behind were just now finding the will to leave. Even America, normally loud-mouthed and always chipper, was somber and brooding when he had come up and placed his hand on England's shoulder before leaving. 

He was now the only one standing before your grave, syaring down at the many flowers, pictures, mementos of memories from a life well lived. A life so very much loved. 

There were many things he could say, so many things that still needed to be said even if the only ones to hear him were the trees, the rainclouds above, and the unmoving stone before him. But he couldn't find his voice, couldn't find the words he wanted to speak even as the thunder threatened him to hurry along, the first of many raindrops finding their way on his skin. 

_"Silly, I was just apologizing. I know how frustrated you get when I sound like that...."_

_"Would you like to dance with me, Arthur?"_

_"You're a great cook, Arthur."_

_"Arthur, dear, can you not sleep again?"_

_"I never knew talking to someone could be so...frightening!"_

_"I'm not s'posed to be drunk. I was s'posed to...to not be drunk!"_

_"I love him, Arthur, but it doesn't even compare to the way I love you."_

_"You didn't think you were gonna scare me away over a little sickness, did you?"_

_"I love you, Arthur! I love you so much!"_

The rain had caught up to him; it was much easier to hide his tears that way. 

"(Y/N)...what I love most is how you loved me. How...how could I not?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next installment!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


End file.
